It could be interpreted as pathetic or even pitiable that this previously unfathomable level of anxiety- no, terror- might be caused by some intangible 'monster' the likes of which cannot be expressed to my knowledge by any form of human expression. So bizarre is this disease that the presumptuous masses are rendered incredulous and assume exaggeration. I am uncertain how I might detail to these souls that my condition is as grave as a cancer: it infects the mind, slowly mutating any shred of normalcy I might have had into oblivion. I cannot hope to explain that. I can, however, attempt to put into perspective my overwhelming despair.

Every day is another lesson in mental anguish and abject misery. Often in the confines of my home I cease to recall the horrors to which I have been subjected a mere few hours previous. My careless lack of recollection at these times instills in me a false hope that the new day might be infinitesimally less unbearable.

But it does not relent. Seven and a half years have metamorphosed to infinitude. I live and love in a state of perpetual dread and internal turmoil of sorts. Thusfar every therapy and remedy has failed me. Even love, the apex of all things human, the pinnacle of our existance, cannot deliver me from this.

Untreatable by modern medicine, I decay.

-Nicole